A Different Kind of Battle
by GrandeVanillaSkimLatte
Summary: Moving home was harder for Charlie than he expected. However it isn't family that keep him from returning to Romania but a broken woman, lost in her own shattered mind who desperately needs his help. CharlieLuna.
1. One

A Different Kind of Battle

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**One**

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_Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break. ~ William Shakespeare

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Kicking a stone from his path Charlie Weasley walked with his head down and his hands in his pockets. The wind whistling past him was almost soothing compared the sounds of the Burrow. The constant buzz that seemed to surround his childhood home were ones he used to welcome; now he wished he never had to hear them again.

It had been three weeks. Three weeks of funerals, three weeks of tears, three weeks of celebrations and three weeks of the most confusing mix of sorrow and sheer relief. The wizarding world had lost and gained so much and it was all thanks to the three people he was currently living with.

Coming home had always been a happy thing for him. A break from his often gruelling work in Romania and a chance to be doted on and enjoy the kinds of interaction he only ever found amongst the sea of red hair. This was the first time he had never found that kind of peace, instead, the death of his brother Fred had made the atmosphere tense and everything seemed to have changed. It was as if the entire house had been wrapped in cotton wool and every voice, every reaction, every small laugh and ever tear shed was now muffled and distorted.

Pinching the bridge of his nose as the thoughts of Fred growing up came to him thick and fast, threatening the tears he knew he could no longer stand, Charlie continued to walk, to escape, to be alone, even if it was for just this short time. He knew this walk was just the start – he was beginning to feel trapped in the warped and familiar walls of the burrow. His need for escape had been escalating for days now.

Returning to Romania wasn't going to be easy but he knew he had to do it. As much as he wished he could be there for his family he knew he would come to resent this place if he was forced to stay here during this time. It was selfish, he knew that, but he had never knew what to do in these situations, and now it was happening in his own home it made that sense of drowning he hated so much worse. It was telling his family he was leaving that would hurt the greatest; telling his mother would damn near kill him.

Molly Weasley was clinging to her children like a mother duckling. Even Harry and Hermione had been added into the mix as she insisted that she could make everything right if she just kept cooking and cleaning and caring. It hurt to watch her try so hard but nothing none of them said and not even his father could get her to stop. He honestly didn't want to be here the day she finally snapped and crashed and burned; his mother had always been so strong, the backbone of the family. Fred's death was looking like the straw that had broken the camels back.

It was not only that, although it was the main contributing factor that had led to his decision to leave England once again. He had come to realise in recent days that the empty feeling he had inside wasn't only caused by his brother's death. He felt a pang each time he watched his sister kiss Harry, which she did quite frequently. He thought about it some more and realised he felt it again as he walked past Ron and Hermione curled up together on the couch. It wasn't the romance in the air that bothered him, of that he was sure, it was the misplaced feeling of having missed something – some change that everyone else had been there to witness. He felt like he didn't belong.

As the days wore on and without Bill around, Charlie had begun to realise just how much change his family had gone through. He could empathize with Percy, who sat on the sidelines too but for completely different reasons. Nobody was hostile toward him, nor were they unfriendly; he joined in whatever activity they were doing for the day and worked along side them in whatever task their mother had concocted. It was in the times of rest, when they wandered off in their own pursuits that he felt out of place and more of a visitor than Harry or Hermione.

It was during one of these quiet periods that he had got up and walked out. Nobody had asked him where he was going, or stopped him to put a jacket on and he felt a pang at the loss of what used to be second nature. Kicking a tuft of grass as he walked now he almost regretted the rebellious decision to go without some kind of protection from the wind.

It was as he climbed the top of the steepest hill, miles from the Burrow, that he caught sight of her. Her hair, so bright he could have sworn it was a sunny day and not the overcast muggy one it actually was, streamed around her body in waves. She crouched low to the ground, her dress riding high up her thighs as her hands worked furiously at the ground.

Charlie tilted his head to the side, first in vague recognition and second in befuddlement. He couldn't for the life of him work out where he had seen her before and what she was doing now. All at once, as if catching his scent on the wind, her head whipped around and she saw him. Even from the distance he could see her eyes go wide in fear and moments later she spun and ran. Without thinking he began to follow.

Running down the hill was much easier than getting up it, however he underestimated just how steep it was, loosing his footing and tumbling down the final third. He landed extremely close to where she had been sitting so he crawled the rest of the way curiously. There, in the middle of the green grass and bright daisy's was a crude hole, hand dug and not very deep at all, he could see the markings in the dirt where her nails had broken it away. Beside the hole rested a golden locket. He wondered if she had been trying to bury it or if she had just left it behind.

Picking it up he looked in the direction she had disappeared, there was only one way to find out. Getting up and brushing himself off, he pocketed the necklace and began to walk toward the copse of trees he was sure she was hiding in. He had never considered himself to be much of a tracker, but the path she left was rather obvious. She probably took it everyday. More than once he contemplated turning back and leaving the necklace for her to find, but then he remembered that turning back meant going home.

The trees began to thin after another ten minutes of walking and Charlie was beginning to wonder just how far she could have run. He answered his own question when a large black building loomed just off in the distance. He remembered the building, having flown by it many times in his childhood. That crazy Xenophilius Lovegood had printed his weird newspaper from there – he wondered if anyone still lived there. Maybe it was the old coot's daughter he had seen.

Slogging his way up the final hill he walked though the overgrown front garden, picking his way along the almost invisible stepping stones until he reached the front door. Looking around he could see no signs of life but decided it was worth a shot trying here anyway. The force of his knock had the door swinging inwards, not having been closed properly. Slowly pushing it all the way open, he stepped into the dim interior and called out.

"Hello?"

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	2. Two

**Two

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_Insanity is often the logic of an accurate mind over tasked. ~ Oliver W. Holmes, Sr.

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"Hello?" Charlie called again, stepping further into the seemingly empty house, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light.

His foot crunched against something on the floor, looking down he was bemused to find every inch of the kitchen he had just entered to be lined with old newspapers and what appeared to be thousands of owl droppings, dead flowers and muddy footprints. It was enough to give his mother a heart attack.

Charlie was grateful he had remembered his shoes, even though he had forgotten his coat. Underfoot, the floor felt as if it had congealed into one giant myriad of textures and layers; squelching on one step, crinkling on the next and at times emitting small squeaks he wasn't so certain came from inanimate objects.

The once cheery wallpaper appeared to be sliding off the very walls as he took a closer look around the kitchen, smashed picture frames barely clung to the walls and piles of unidentifiable objects littered the floors, blocking off doorways. A clear path sliced through the mess, leading directly to a spiral staircase, it was the only sign of life in the otherwise dilapidated hovel.

He shuddered as he almost slid and had to grip onto the grimy sink to keep from falling. He pulled his hand away gingerly from the surface and found it to be covered in the grease of some long ago meal. Nobody could possibly live in this mess, obviously the Lovegood's had moved on and he had just imagined the girl in the meadow, he tried to convince himself.

He squinted in the dim light as he stood by the sink, waging an internal battle with his first instinct to leave this place. Something felt wrong and unsettled about the house; infact the whole area had an air of pain and illness, as if something horrible had happened within these very walls.

He took a deep breath, immediately regretting the action as the putrid air permeated his nostrils, reminding him of his early days in Romania shovelling Dragon Dung. A glance toward the partially open refrigerator, where the smell seemed to be at its most concentrated, showed only shrivelled black and green liquefied objects, he vowed to go no closer to the box of petrified food if he could help it.

Just as he made up his mind that nobody could possibly be living in the house and that the mysterious girl was just a figment of his overtaxed imagination he heard a rustling from upstairs. At first he thought it was just mice, then as it grew louder he put it down to perhaps a rat, but as the noise became a loud rhythmic thumping he knew for certain that there was another human being within the walls of the once happy family home.

"Hello?" he called again, taking an uncertain step toward the rickety stair case, casting a stabilizing spell on the structure before he dared to take a step onto it. Once again he received no answer, but the thumping noise did come to a stop. All was silent for a few moments and Charlie found himself holding his breath, whoever was upstairs must have been too, until a low familiar sound floated down to his ears.

Gathering his old Gryffindor courage he climbed the final steps and found himself on the bright and airy second floor. A quick glance at the glass ceiling showed just why it was so breezy, most of the glass had been broken away, whether by natural causes or unnatural he was unsure, but it had never been repaired.

The consistent scratching bought his attention back to the filthy upper room, once a working study of sorts where the Quibbler was published monthly. There at the desk sat the woman with the hair of spun dirty gold, he stared at her hunched form for a few minutes, unsure what to do now he had found her.

He took a step closer and cleared his throat but she didn't move an inch, she just continued to scribble furiously on something in front of her. At first he thought she couldn't hear him, but that was impossible, he was standing right behind her, so he concluded she was just ignoring him.

"Excuse me, you dropped this earlier," he said a bit louder, taking another step toward her, tilting his head to look at her face through the curtain of hair.

She was just as dirty as the rest of the house, a smudge of dirt across her nose right through to her cheekbone made stark contrast against her pale skin, her eyes were wide and as blue as a summer's sky but the shadows under them looked like ancient bruises, unable to heal. He had never seen a sorrier sight in his life.

"Sorry, but I think this is yours," he said more gently, holding the necklace in front of her line of sight. He watched as she continued to scribble on the paper before her for a moment, still ignoring him, before her eyes slowly began to rise. Her frayed bangs almost covered her face as she stared in fascination at the shiny gold necklace hanging before her.

"Here, let me put it on for you," he offered, watching her expression as it never wavered from the styled metal. Slowly stepping to stand directly behind her, he unhooked the chain and bought it slowly around her neck.

What happened next was a blur of fists and blonde hair as she turned on him like a woman possessed. Kicking him in the groin and swinging her fist directly at his nose. He fell back in surprise, her violent outburst completely unexpected, and watched helplessly as she fled the room.

Everything had happened so fast that it took him several moments of mind reeling heavy breathing to comprehend it all. He didn't know if it had been the necklace, the fact that he had touched her or that she had honestly not realised he had been in the room with her that had set off her outburst. Perhaps it had been a combination, after all any person who could live in such a state obviously wasn't in their right mind.

He was gingerly getting off the floor when the paper on the desk caught his eye. Rather than chase after her again, as was his first instinct, he slowly walked over to where she had been sitting. At first he had trouble comprehending what he was looking at and then it struck him. She hadn't been writing as he had first suspected, she had been drawing, and he was now staring down at a portrait so alike himself he half expected it to move like a photo.

He frowned down at the picture, taking note of his stunned expression she had chosen to capture as he stood above her on the stormy hill. He began to shuffle through the papers on the desk, certain she wouldn't mind, let alone notice. He soon found many drawings, some of animals she had obviously observed in the wild, some of people and others of more dark and gruesome scenes.

It was these last pictures that captured his attention the most, the harsh lines and almost painful strokes of the pen telling a horrid tale of pain and suffering, yet gave away very little. He was sure somehow that her story was told in these pictures, but they were so fragmented, many of them incomplete so that he was unable to put it all together.

He caught himself staring down at the desk unseeing after a few moments, lost in the thoughts of how much he had missed while he was gone. Without a doubt the woman who had just risked his chance of fatherhood was Luna Lovegood, but it wasn't the Luna he remembered from his brothers wedding. The woman he had just encountered was anything but the eccentric and bubbly girl who had snorted champagne from her nose when his younger brother had told a poor joke.

Tearing himself from the pictures before him he made his way gingerly down the stairs, careful not to touch anything. Something had happened to Luna during the war and he was sure someone out there would be able to tell him just what. Whether he could help her or not was a completely different matter.

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	3. Three

**Three**

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_While we have the gift of life, it seems to me the only tragedy is to allow part of us to die -- whether it is our spirit, our creativity or our glorious uniqueness ~ Gilda Radner

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Slowly making his way back down the stairs, Charlie didn't see her anywhere around and the front door swinging wildly in the wind indicated she had run off outside. Rather than chase after her, which would surely frighten her worse than his first appearance, he decided it was probably best to return home.

He shivered in the cold night air and decided apparating home was probably a better option than walking back. Even though it was downhill and the wind would be at his back, he was certain he would find no comfort in the exercise. He wondered if his mother would have something warm on the table when he arrived home like she used to do when he was a child.

He entered the Burrow through the back kitchen door, kicking his muddy shoes into the corner of the wet room before padding into the warm environment that hadn't change in his entire existence. He was immediately engulfed by the smells of something delicious on the stove and the warm glow of the kitchen was enough to draw him inside without hesitation.

He expected to find his mother hovering over the cook top, humming quietly to herself as she set her wand to work creating tastes only she could achieve. Instead he found his youngest brothers bushy haired girlfriend in her place. The elderly matriarch sat by the fireplace, where he had left her earlier that day, her knitting long forgotten in her lap as she stared into the dancing flames.

"Hi mum," he said quietly, crossing the room to kiss her forehead. She blinked in response but didn't move otherwise.

"Oh Charlie, you're home. Can you set the table for me?" Hermione asked anxiously, hovering over the giant pot as if it were about to explode.

"Sure," he murmured, shuffling about the empty kitchen, casting overt glances at his mother.

"George is having a bad day," Hermione whispered when she noticed him looking at Molly again.

Those simple words explained so much. George – who had locked himself in his room and had yet to join them for a meal – was taking the death of his twin as to be expected. Their mother was at her wits end, unable to cope with the loss of one of her children, and unable to be the support everyone else needed her to be. When George had a bad day - yelling, crying and claiming he wanted to die too - Molly would shut down, not knowing what to do.

"Suppers ready!" Hermione called, making shooing motions at him to sit at the table. Charlie watched as the bright young woman took charge, serving generous helpings of her home made stew, getting everyone something to drink before taking her own seat. She didn't even attempt to coax George down and she left his mother exactly where she was.

"Well this is nice, thank you Hermione," his father said warmly, giving her a weak smile. Everybody watched as his eyes slid to his wife before returning to his meal, grief flashing across his aging features before he pursed his lips and picked up his spoon with brief nod to himself.

"It was no trouble," Hermione said sadly. Ron reached across the table and squeezed her hand in gratitude and support.

Everybody began eating, the only sounds in the room was the clinking of spoons on bowls and the occasional quiet request to pass the salt. A glance around the table showed Harry and Ginny locked in some kind of silent communication, Ginny looking as if she were about to burst into tears and Harry giving pointed looks in the direction of their mother. Hermione was splitting her slice of bread in half, giving the majority of it to Ron, who had already finished his. Percy hadn't made an appearance at the Burrow in a week and Bill was spending the weekend in France with his wife and daughter.

"I went for a walk today. It's getting pretty cold outside," Charlie made the comment idly enough, but he was curious to see if anybody had even noticed he had been gone for the day.

"Winter's certainly on the way. How're the wards holding up son?" his father asked, seemingly absorbed in his bowl of stew.

"I didn't pay much attention to them to be honest," he replied, "I got distracted a bit further along at the Lovegood's home."

"That's still standing?" Ginny asked tearing her gaze away from Harry's to look at her brother curiously.

"Barely, it's pretty messed up. What happened there?" he asked, not quite ready to reveal just why he had been that far from home in the first place.

"I sometimes forget how much you missed," Hermione answered him, placing her spoon on the table and pushing the last of her meal toward Ron who dug in like it was his last meal. "The Lovegood's were tragic victims of the war. Nobody is entirely certain what happened to this day, only minor details pop up occasionally, but what we do know tells us that perhaps death would have been a blessing after the suffering they were both forced to endure."

"I still can't believe she's gone," Ginny whispered, her throat working hard as she fought back another wave of tears.

"How?" he asked, looking to Hermione for answers.

"Well, Mr Lovegood continued to publish his newspaper, which made not only the Ministry angry, but also the Death Eaters. It was only a matter of time before they came for him – they still haven't recovered all the pieces of his body, but his head was found impaled on the fence of Malfoy Manor the day after the Battle."

"And the girl?" he was almost afraid to ask.

"Dead. Luna escaped with us as you know, but later, when her father was taken, so was she. We heard that she was…" Hermione pursed her lips and blinked back tears, taking a gulp of air before continuing, "That she was raped and beaten quite severely, that she was paraded naked down Diagon Alley by a group of drunken Death Eaters. The witness accounts are horrific."

"That was the last anybody ever saw of her," Harry finished, pushing the remains of his meal away from him, holding Ginny's hand tightly in his own as memories of their friend bought on a sombre air around the table.

"Dead," Charlie whispered to himself, thinking of the girl he had encountered that afternoon. It made a bit more sense to him now – she was dead in a way, or at least severely broken.

"That poor girl, I can only imagine the horrors she went through in her last few hours, all alone," Molly's voice whispered sadly from where she still sat by the fireplace.

Everybody fell silent, lost in their own thoughts and grief. Harry was the first to move, picking up his glass from the table. "To Luna," he said.

They all followed suit; their glasses raised high as they toasted to the memory of those lost.

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	4. Four

**Four**

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_A feeling of sadness and longing that is not akin to pain and resembles sorrow only as the mist resembles the rain. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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He tossed and turned for most of the night, unable to stop thinking about her. His memory of the happy school girl at his brothers wedding was suddenly tainted by horrifying images of her broken and bleeding.

What little sleep he did manage to gain was interrupted by nightmares of her being pulled through the streets of Wizarding London, a rope tied around her neck like a stray dog, her wrists and ankles tied in a similar fashion, rubbed bloody and raw. Her despair was tangible, the fear in her eyes almost drowning and when she stumbled and fell to the cobblestone ground and her captures turned to kick her brutally he found himself waking to a cold sweat.

He pulled in great gulps of air, his heart racing, and head pounding as he fought the horror that seemed to consume his subconscious. It was suddenly clear to him why Luna had been so scared of him, why she seemed like a shattered soul; if he couldn't deal with her past in his dreams he didn't know how she could cope with it in reality.

Swinging his legs out from the tangled sheets, he sat up in bed, cradling his head in his palms as his pulse finally returned to normal and he was able to think clearly. Maybe it was the oppressive environment his home had changed into, maybe it was his feelings of hopelessness when it came to dealing with his family's grief, but Charlie made up his mind in those moments that he was going to help her – that he had to help her.

A glance at the window showed the first band of light on the horizon. He pulled on his clothes from the day before, picked up his shoes, and silently padded down the stairs. He received a shock when he realized he wasn't the only one awake in the quiet crooked old house.

"Morning," he greeted quietly, sitting on the bottom step to put his shoes on, facing the kitchen where Hermione sat staring out the window, a cup of steaming tea cradled between her palms.

"Charlie," she smiled softly, "what's got you up so early?" she asked.

"Felt like going for another walk," he shrugged, noting Hermione's distracted glance out of the window again. "Everything okay?" he asked, tying his laces without looking, instead watching her profile through her halo of frizzy brown hair.

"Yeah, just thinking," she replied softly, sipping from her tea and looking out the window again. This time she didn't turn back to him.

"What about?" he pried, intrigued by the strong witches distraction. Normally when she was problem solving she turned to books and spells – her silent contemplation was worrying.

"My parents. I think I am going to find them," she whispered, more to herself than to him.

"Where are they?" he asked, remembering that Ron hadn't known much about what had happened to the Grangers, only that Hermione had been forced to modify their minds and send them away.

"Australia."

"You'll find them. If anyone can, it would be you," he told her, standing from the stairs and patting her shoulder on the way to the door. She smiled softly to herself again and sighed as his hand left her body.

"Oh Charlie," she called, making him turn to face her again, his hand on the door handle, ready to leave. "Take something to eat – you might be gone awhile," she smiled.

Charlie nodded and grabbed a couple of apples from the fruit bowl on the bench beside him, "Thanks Hermione." he said and ducked out the door.

As he walked he began to wonder just how much Hermione suspected about where he was going, she was after all a bright witch, and it wouldn't take much to put the previous night's conversation and his sudden disappearances together.

Gripping the apples against his chest with one arm, he pulled out his wand with the other and quickly dissapperated from the Burrow, landing neatly in the field outside the Lovegood's home. It was nowhere near as cold as the day before, the early morning breeze light but not yet frigid. The tall black house looked as if it were surrounded by a halo of light by the time he trudged his way up to the front door, finding it once again open to the world.

He pushed the heavy wooden door inward and stepped inside the ramshackle home, not sure what to expect. A noise to his left drew his attention and he turned to look into the kitchen, not sure whether he would find the girl or a rabid animal from the woods outside. Luckily for him it was only the blonde haired witch in the kitchen, standing on her toes over the unlit stove stirring a large saucepan with her wand.

He stood watching her quietly for a moment before the smell hit him. Whatever it was she was stirring was causing the most unpleasant odor he had ever smelled (worse even than Dragon Dung) and made his toes curl and his eyes water. Just as he went to cover his nose and mouth from the indelicate aroma she reached a hand into the pot and scooped up some of the foreign mixture bringing it to her mouth.

He acted without thinking, pulling his wand from his pocket and throwing a hasty disarming spell in her direction, knocking the liquid from her hand and forcing her body to be thrown to the other side of the kitchen. His eyes widened in horror as her knees crumpled beneath her and she slid to the floor.

Charlie rushed forward, pocketing his wand. He dropped to his knees beside the dazed blonde, but no sooner had he reached out a hand to see if she was okay she was on her feet and backing away from him.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice sounding odd to his ears as he watched her eyes grow impossible big, her fingers trailing along the kitchen cabinets as she drew closer and closer to the front door.

He stood slowly, hands out in front of him, unsure what to do. The sudden movement seemed to scare her even more and she turned and ran from the house into the early morning sun. It took everything in his power not to run after her, but he knew that even if he caught up with her he wouldn't be able to earn her trust so easily.

Sitting heavily at the small kitchen table, he cradled his head in his palms for the second time that morning and wondered just what he was doing. Thoughts of abandoning Luna Lovegood never crossed his mind, infact, that morning's display only helped to fuel his determination to help the shattered woman. She needed someone now more than ever.

Staring out the window with a sigh, he couldn't see her golden hair outside and assumed she had run off into the woods and wouldn't be back anytime soon – at least not until she felt her home was safe again. He picked up one of his discarded apples and bit into it, wondering whether to go and look for her or wait to see if she came back by chance.

Waiting seemed like the better option in the end, but he couldn't stay in the mess and smell. With a resigned sigh and renewed focus, he stood from the table and went in search of a broom.

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	5. Five

**Five****

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_He that raises a large family does, indeed, while he lives to observe them, stand a broader mark for sorrow; but then he stands a broader mark for pleasure too. ~ Benjamin Franklin.

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By night fall Luna had not returned.

Charlie had spent the whole day cleaning just the small kitchen, but even with magic he knew it would take many more hours to get it back to proper living standards.

He had avoided the upper levels altogether, unable to face her gruesome drawings; now that he knew just what had happened to her, he knew those pictures would tell a much more horrific tale on second viewing.

The sun was beginning to set as he wiped the light sweat that coated his brow, brushing his slightly too long hair from his eyes. Resigned, he gave up on waiting for her, knowing she wouldn't be back until she felt it was safe again. Casting a quick cleansing charm on himself and straightening his clothes as best he could without alerting his mother to the true nature of his walks, he apparated back to the Burrow.

The last rays of sun were shooting across the sky as he pushed in the crooked white picket fence that his father had insisted they construct the muggle way so many years ago and approached the front door, still tugging and brushing at his clothes concerned.

It wasn't that he didn't think his family could help when it came to Luna; it was that he was afraid of what would happen if an entire clan of redheads suddenly invaded her home. It was a bit like dealing with a Dragon that had just laid an egg, handle it too much and she will abandon it, leave her alone and she will feel more comfortable in her surroundings.

He didn't want to scare her off and abandon her home in favour of the woods. It was a small comfort to him to know that she had a roof over her head.

Entering the house he heard more noise than he had in weeks, and the sound of tinkling glass meeting in a toast. He frowned and followed the short hall through to the lounge which sat off the kitchen in a jumble of plush chairs and couches, worn threadbare over time.

His family all sat around before the blazing fire, glasses in hands and the odd smile here and there. It was rare to see even a glimpse of a grin these days and he wondered just what had happened to change the mournful tone of his childhood home.

"Charlie," his mother greeted, giving him a warm smile as he entered the room, "We were beginning to wonder where you had got to," she half scolded, half inquired.

"I went for a walk, needed to clear my head," he said, using the same excuse as the day before.

"Of course dear, Hermione mentioned you left early," his mother said, looking to the muggleborn with the affection of a mother hen, her eyes tearing up though as she looked at Ron who sat with his arm around her.

"Mione and I are going to Australia," Ron told him, answering the questioning look that must have flitted across his face. Hermione looked up at him with a watery smile and he remembered her words earlier that morning.

"When do you leave?" he asked, sitting down beside Ginny, who was stroking Harry's hair where it lay across her knees. The Boy-who-lived seemed content sitting on the floor with his head against her legs, remaining silent as he had for weeks now.

"In the morning, we didn't want to wait," Hermione explained, darting a glance at Molly, who sniffed a little.

"How are you going to find them?" he asked, worried they would be travelling all over the country in search of just two people out of millions.

"Hermione put a tracking charm on them before they left," Ron said proudly, giving the witch under his arm a squeeze.

The group fell in to silence once more, drinking quietly as they enjoyed each others presence. The wafting smells of a delicious meal entered from the kitchen and Charlie's stomach gave a loud grumble, protesting another day with little food.

"Oh dear, you must be starving," his mother fussed, pulling herself up from the couch where she had been nestled in to her husbands side. She began to make shooing motions at all of them, "Go on, all of you. Wash up and then dinner will be ready."

Charlie watched his family troop up the stairs, his mother returning through the door to the kitchen. Hermione started to head toward the stairs but stopped and turned to him, wetting her lips nervously.

"How was your walk?" she asked, taking a step back in to the room, lowering her voice with a glance at the kitchen. His mothers soft humming told them she was thoroughly absorbed in preparing the evening meal.

"Fine," he replied slowly, watching her eyes shift again as she took yet another step closer.

"I know," she whispered, her eyes piercing his, "I couldn't stop thinking about it all day and I realized…"

"Know what?" he asked, confused.

"You've found her, she's alive," she breathed, licking her lips again as tears made her eyes shimmer.

"I-" he started to deny, but she cut him off again, her curious mind unable to rest.

"I know how crazy it seems, but I couldn't stop thinking about her when you bought her up last night. And then this morning you left, and now you come back covered in dust and cob webs. It has to be true, please tell me it's true," she said in a rush.

Charlie saw the blind hope shining in the younger witch's eyes, the excitement at knowing her friend was alive. It must have been the same hope she harboured for her parents, and he couldn't deny this one bit of good news before she left.

"Yes, she's alive, but she's not the same," he admitted quietly.

"Did you speak to her? Find out where she has been? Is she okay?" Hermione asked quickly, her eyes darting to the staircase where the sounds of feet were slowly descending.

"She only runs away from me. I don't know what happened to her, or how she survived," he told her, feeling a slight weight shift from his chest as he finally shared his burden.

"Oh," Hermione's face dropped. The sounds of feet got closer and closer.

"I'm going back tomorrow. If I see her, I'll mention you," he added, wanting to see that light shine in her eyes again.

The witch in front of him looked like she was going to cry as she stared at the floor, a frown marring her pretty features.

"Do you have anything you could lend me? The house is a bit of a mess…" Charlie started to ask, but stopped when she stared up at him stricken.

"Oh of course, I should have offered," she whispered, blushing, "I'll leave a bag of things on my bed in the morning - toiletries and a few potions she might need. It's the least I can do."

"This is our secret for now, okay?" he asked, just as Ginny entered the room.

"Okay," she agreed.

Neither spoke a word about it for the rest of the night and in the morning, when Hermione and Ron were well and truly on their way, Charlie snuck in to their room and found the promised bag of goods.

He just hoped Luna turn up again to appreciate the gifts.

* * *

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	6. Six

**Six

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**

_To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting. ~ E.E Cummings, 1955

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_

It was early again when Charlie slipped out of the Burrow, the backpack Hermione had left him slung over his shoulder.

It was raining, the sky heavy with rolling grey clouds, and the distant rumble of thunder so loud in their secluded patch of the world. He remembered mornings like this when he was little; of cups of cocoa around the fire and staying in his pajama's playing chess until lunchtime with his brothers. But board games and comfort foods were the last thing on his mind when he apparated from the front doorstep, landing with a pop in the overgrown run down yard.

A flash of lightening lit up the pre-dawn horizon, flashing on broken windows and the strange rusted objects that lay neglected in what must have once been a fascinating garden. Ducking his head down, he rushed from the rain and into the front door, which had been left swinging open.

"Luna?" He called, his breath fanning out in a cloud in front of him as he stepped into the freezing kitchen.

Dropping the backpack on the nearest chair, he took note that the kitchen hadn't been touched since the night before. The fireplace he had spent hours cleaning out and stocking with fresh logs remained unlit and the apples he had left in a bowl in the centre of the table uneaten.

The niggling feeling that Luna has spent the night out in the woods during the storm ate at him and by the time he checked upstairs - avoiding her drawings and focusing on the unmade beds and various hiding places - the feeling was almost full-blown panic.

Had he scared her away permanently? Had he lost her forever? He cursed his own rash actions the day before, wishing he hadn't reacted so violently in the kitchen.

"Luna!" He called, taking the steps two at a time, coming back into the kitchen and running his hands restlessly through his hair. He spun in a circle, wondering how badly she would react if he went crashing through the woods looking for her.

Something caught his attention from the corner of his eye, a flash of colour and movement before it was gone. Taking a deep breath, he slowly approached the kitchen window that he had also repaired the day before, pushing back the red checkered curtains his breath caught in his throat when he saw her.

The rain seemed to be pouring down harder now, but Luna didn't seem to care. It took Charlie several long seconds to realizing she was dancing. Her face was turned up to the increasingly heavy downpour, her arms flinging out to the sides and up in the air with each exhilarating spin she took in the overgrown grass that must have once been their backyard.

He focused on her face; the small smile that tugged at her lips, her eyes squeezed shut, her skin utterly clear and almost translucent under the continuously flashing lightening.

His eyes travelled from her face, to her now sopping hair that hung down her back, looking even more bedraggled now it was wet. He wondered what it would look like clean and dry. Would it be spun gold, all curling waves and deep highlights, or would be the more unusual white gold, sleek and straight. He tried to remember what it looked like from Bill's wedding, but she had been such a minor detail from the night that his mind couldn't even picture what colour she had been wearing.

His breath caught in his throat when he saw just what had happened to the ragged, dirty slip she had been wearing since he had first scene her on the hill. The scrap of silk was just as wet as the rest of her, its torn hem appearing worse for wear after a night spent outside, but it wasn't the condition that held him in rapture.

She was so thin, was his first thought. Her rib cage could be clearly seen through the translucent fabric; sharp bones protruding at angles that were never suppose to be visible. Her collar bones were equally prominent, looking like fragile sticks above her chest, which almost seemed hollow from malnourishment. His eyes barely skimmed her breasts, her nipples dark circles where the silk clung to her every curve, or what she had left of them.

Without thinking, he pulled back from the window and moved swiftly to the back door which sat beside the pantry in the far corner of the kitchen. It took several tugs and finally a hasty charm to get the warped wood to budge, but then he was standing unsheltered in the rain, only several feet from the achingly depressing creature who danced in the rain.

"Luna," he called, over the rain, taking a step toward her.

Luna spun in a circle again, that small grin becoming a full smile as her arms raised high in the air, heavy drops of water running down her arms.

Thunder cracked over head making him jump in surprise, but he still took another step forward.

"Luna, please come inside," he almost begged, holding his wand loosely by his side, his hand out-stretched.

Once again she spun around; swaying gently from side to side to a song only she could hear.

Becoming desperate and frustrated to get her dry and warm and fed, Charlie took that final step forward and touched her arm as she spun close.

Luna's eyes flung open as she stared at him with terror.

"Luna, come inside. Let me help you," he called over another thunderous clap from the sky. Luna continued to stare at him, frozen to the spot, her hand going to her chest where her heart almost visibly pounded within.

She opened her mouth, gasping for breath as the tense seconds between them stretched and then she did the one thing he hoped she wouldn't do.

She ran.

With a burst of speed he would have struggled to match, Charlie watched as she headed for the back door, darting into the house and out of the rain. He knew this time that if he waited he would see her again.

After all, she had to come down some time.

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	7. Seven

**Seven

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**

_Friendship that flows from the heart cannot be frozen by adversity, as the water that flows from the spring cannot congeal in winter_. _~ James Fenimore Cooper

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_

It was getting dark again when Charlie finally heard a noise on the stairs. He sunk deeper into the garish yellow arm chair he had spent the better part of the day getting clean and stared resolutely at the merrily crackling fire in front of him.

The smell of vegetable stew coming from the quietly simmering cauldron was enough to entice even the most timid of mice. He was grateful that the back garden had wielded a regular vegetable patch, devoid of dangerous flora – without it he would be eating apples again.

The sound of shuffled footsteps grew louder, nearing the bottom of the staircase. Even over the sound of the still pounding rain he heard her hesitation at the bottom of the stairs, knew that she was looking timidly between the kitchen and living room.

Resting his head against the back of the arm chair he tried not to move, to breath to loudly and scare her off again. She knew he was still in the house, of that there could be no doubt since he had spent the day cleaning again. The living room had been worse than the kitchen, ceiling high with bits and pieces, ruined furniture and several families of varying species.

He did a lot of it by hand, even catching a glimpse of her in one of the upstairs windows when he had gone outside to chop the wood for the now merrily crackling fire.

Her feet brushed against the roughened wood floorboards, and like a moth she gravitated toward the warmth. He sat absolutely still when she came into view, her eyes locked on the simmering cauldron.

Charlie had the chance to observe her too thin frame; still in the filthy shift that had dried in the time she had spent upstairs hiding. Her skin was so pale he could see the blue of her veins down her arms, even in the dim light, her rib cage jutted out beneath the thin cloth and her body seemed to be covered in goose flesh as she stood there shivering.

"It's stew," he said as quietly as he could, not wanting to startle her.

Luna once again didn't respond as she inched a little closer to the fire.

"Would you like some? It should be ready by now," he said, shifting forward to pick up the two bowls he had bought in from the kitchen.

Her eyes finally shifted to him when he moved, and there was a moment of that sheer terror that lit in up before she covered it with a blank expression. He tried not to study her too closely; instead he shifted to his knees on the tile hearth, picking up the heavy ladle that hung from a hook on the mantle and dishing up first one bowl, then the next.

He moved one bowl an inch toward where she stood looking down at him, picking up his own bowl and a spoon and settling back in his seat.

"You know, my mother used to make this on rainy days," he said conversationally, scooping up some of the broth and blowing on it. Luna continued to stare at him, her eyes focused on his hands, "But I am sure hers is much better. I was just going off memory."

He bought the spoon to his mouth and ate the first bone warming mouthful, finding it did indeed taste just like his mothers, "I think she is one of those cooks who always keeps back that one secret ingredient," he continued, hoping his knew approach to her was going to work.

Luna watched him take a second mouthful before her gaze switched to the bowl at her feet; she dropped to her knees and stared down at it for another full minute.

"It might still be a bit hot for you," he said when she didn't touch it. He was hard trying not to notice how the firelight cast such deep shadows in the hollows of her face, showing just how sick she actually was.

He blew on another bite and tried not to grind his teeth in frustration. He knew her being in the same room as him was progress, but he wanted her to say something, acknowledge him, acknowledge she needed help. Instead, she sat silent and shivering, staring at probably the first decent meal she had seen since the war.

He opened his mouth to try and encourage her to eat again when she reached a finger out to dip in the bowl. He tried not to notice the dirt under her nails or the scrapes down the backs of her hands and forearms as she bought her finger to her mouth and tasted the meal.

Her expression changed slightly and if he hadn't been studying her so closely he wouldn't have noticed the brief flicker between him and the bowl. He ate another bite and watched as she weighed the spoon in her palm as if not quite remembering what it was and how it was used.

He took another bite, savouring the sweetness of the carrot and flavour of the celery as he watched her grip the handle in her whole fist, like a child would. Trying not to hold his breath, he watched her scoop up the first bite before tasting it.

Luna's expression went from puzzled confusion to what he recognized as a deep hunger within in seconds and soon she was taking in mouthfuls quicker than she could swallow.

"Slow down, there's enough to last," he said, unable to hide the chuckle in his voice.

She didn't seem to hear him though as she finished one bowl and started eying off the cauldron again.

"As I said, it's my mothers recipe. I thought you would like it," Charlie continued in his one-sided conversation, "Would you like another bowl?"

Predictably she didn't answer, so he crawled back to the fire, sitting inches from her now, trying to ignore the slight smell of her hair and clothes. He tried not to think of how much worse it would have been without her little dance in the rain that morning.

Filling his bowl again, he went to reach for hers to do the same, but she snatched the full one from his hands first, almost spilling it on both of them. Her empty bowl landed with a shattering crash that didn't seem to faze her as she tucked into her second bowl.

Without thinking, he pulled out his wand, pointing it at the broken shards and repairing the damage.

It wasn't until the full bowl went crashing to the floor in an equally deafening crash, drenching the carpet around him, that he realized his mistake.

Luna fled the room once more, her footsteps thudding up the stairs with desperate determination. Charlie looked down at his wands, uttering a silent curse.

Repairing the second bowl and siphoning up the mess, he made sure the fire was burning low before aparating back home. Slightly disheartened he finally admitted to himself that it was going to take a little bit more than idle conversation and warm food to bring her back from whatever madness she seemed to be in the grips of.

This realization only left him more determined to return tomorrow and try again.

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	8. Eight

**Eight

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**

_The only cure for grief is action. ~ George Henry Lewes

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_

The moment Charlie aparated into the orchid at The Burrow he knew he had made a mistake.

Leaving Luna so terrified without trying to rectify the situation was only going to make things worse. He needed to be there come morning - needed her to become used to him being there so he could help her.

Staring at the bright lights of his family's home, he formulated a new plan in his head. He was making progress; slow, yes, but it was still progress. But today had taught him that taking things slowly wasn't necessarily good for her.

Luna was sick, being so close to her showed him that it wasn't just her mind that was struggling. She needed someone to be there to make sure she ate, to try and get her to bathe, to make sure she didn't hurt herself. He shuddered at the thought that he could walk in and find her dangerously ill with some sort of fever in the morning.

Looking up through the overhanging branches of the apple trees that had been there as long as he could remember, he realized he couldn't live with the guilt if she got sick because he was too scared to push her.

Luna needed help, and she needed it now.

He braved the distance in the pounding rain to the backdoor, shaking his hair from his eyes as droplets blurred his vision. His plan was to collect some more supplies and go back to Luna for the night.

It wasn't until he bent down to untie his boots that he heard the sound over the rain that made his heart stop.

Tears.

Great wracking sobs coming from the kitchen. A sound that was as much pain-filled as pitiful.

A woman was crying, and he instinctively knew it had to be his mother. He stayed crouching, staring at his laces as he heard her heart breaking within her words.

"It's so _hard_," she was sobbing, almost incoherent.

A quiet murmur followed her words and he knew his father must be with her. The sobs grew louder, a great wailing following Fred's name. He knew she hadn't been coping, that her silence was merely her bottling up, but he didn't think he could stand to hear this, the heart and soul of the house finally breaking down.

Charlie stood back up, his throat convulsing as he fought back his own tears at hearing his mothers anguish. Without a second thought he aparated straight back to the Lovegood's home, unable and unwilling to cope with his family's grief. Not yet.

* * *

Charlie woke up in the morning with a groan, his neck stiff and his spine aching from sleeping in the garish yellow armchair. Rotating his head, it took him a moment more to open his eyes.

He had arrived back in the dark and the rain; the fire in the grate and the empty bowls exactly where he had left them. Having made enough noise coming in the door, and then rummaging through the cupboards for blankets, he had made sure she knew he was back.

By the time he had settled down for the night - the fire built up so that the small living area was warm and cozy – he had almost put his mothers sobs from his mind. Finding sleep in the small hours of the morning had been rather easy after that, the heat of the fire, the coziness of the blankets and the overall exhausting day contributing.

Stretching his arms above his head now, he slowly opened his eyes to the dim pre-dawn light. It couldn't have been more than a few hours since he had fallen asleep, but it soon became apparent just what had woken him.

Luna lay curled in a ball on the carpeted area between his armchair and the hearth. She was making small noised, whimpering in her sleep.

He reached out instinctively, but stopped just short of touching her matted blonde hair. Lost in the grip of her nightmare, her face screwed up and she was biting her lip almost to the point of bleeding. Her long limbs twitched sporadically, and she began curling herself even tighter.

Charlie was at a loss at what to do. He couldn't wake her, for fear of scaring her more than he already had, and there was nothing he could do for her nightmare. He stood up and decided the best thing for her was to be comfortable as she rode out her inner torment.

Standing up, he used his wand to stoke the fire and instantly her twitches stopped. Feeling heartened, he picked up his discarded blanket and carefully draped it over her body.

Her whimpers died down to the occasional involuntary noise, but it was nowhere near the severity of when he had woken. Peering over her head he saw the cauldron of stew was empty and his stomach growling told him they might both be appreciative of a decent meal.

He knew there was nothing in the kitchen, so he went out into the yard and aparated back home, hoping she would still be asleep by the time he got back.

"_Where have you been?" _

Charlie looked up at the sound of his mother's voice, still trying to find his balance after aparating.

"What?" he asked, not sure he had heard her right.

"I asked you, where you have been?" she said in that same furious tone, her question coming out rather clipped the second time.

He blinked up at the short, round woman who had fed, clothed and raised him to be the person he was and could never recall having seen such a furious expression on her face. Her beloved family clock was clutched to her chest, the clock most of them had taken to avoiding since Fred's hand had become permanently stuck at 'mortal peril'.

"Out," he replied frowning.

"Don't you take that tone with me!" she almost shrieked, a hint of hysteria making her look like a wild woman.

"Mum…"

"No Charlie, no. I have spent the night worrying sick about you. You can't just go wandering about with absolutely no indication of where you are going, what you are doing, who you are seeing. I will not have it!" she stormed, her face turning red.

"I… I went to the pub…" he lied, unable to reveal just where he had been.

"So you say! But where have you been going during the day, Charlie? And why? Why do you keep wandering off on your own? You should be here, with your family," she continued to rail at him from the steps of the back door.

"I have been here with you all. I just need some time…"

"We all need time Charlie!" she interrupted again, "We all need to be on our own to grieve but we can't. I need you here, I need all of you here where I can-" but she stopped when her breathing hitched and a great sob escaped her chest. Her anger turned to tears and in moments she was bent over almost double, almost wailing with grief.

"Mum," he said, his heart wrenching to see her in such pain. He took the last few steps up the garden path.

"No!" she cried again when he went to reach for her.

"How can you do this to us? How can you just wander off…"

But it was his turn to interrupt; "I'm not doing anything to you. I'm an adult Mum, I don't need to explain where I go all the time."

"You're my son," she gasped, straightening up and responding to his angry tone, "I have a right to know where you are. I don't want you wandering off again, I want you here where I can see you."

"Why do I suddenly feel like I'm being grounded?" he asked, taking a step back from her.

He knew she was angry and emotional, but her insistence that they all be in her sight at all times lately was what had prompted to go on a walk in the first place. He remembered why he craved the mountains of Romania, and his solitude. He was being suffocated at the Burrow.

"I'm sorry Mum, really I am," he said, stepping around her and heading toward the back door.

"Well so you should be," she spluttered, watching him walk past, "How dare you put me through so much…"

"No, I'm sorry things have had to end like this. I'll be back, one day," he told her quietly, walking in the door, finding the rest of the house sitting in stunned silence at the table. Everyone avoided looking at him as he stomped through toward the staircase that would lead to his room.

"What do you mean one day? Come back here Charlie Weasley, I'm not finished speaking to you!" his mother cried behind him.

Charlie ignored her, walked to his room and began packing his things.

He said goodbye to nobody as he left his home for good.

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	9. Nine

**Nine****

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**

_Millions and millions of years would still not give me half enough time to describe that tiny instant of all eternity when you put your arms around me and I put my arms around you. ~ Jacques Prévert

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_

The rain had all but stopped by the time Charlie had walked the distance to Lovegood's home, stopping to stare from his vantage point on the grassy hill as he willed himself to slow down, calm down and think.

He was coming to realize that leaving the Burrow had been almost inevitable. His growing restlessness, his families overbearing nature and his latest endeavor to help a woman he had only ever met a handful of times were all clear indicators that something, or someone, was going to snap.

He tried not to think about what was happening at the Burrow right now, miserable about being the next person in line to break his mothers heart. Fred's death had affected them all, but Molly Weasley was the only one whose pain came close to George's – Charlie just wished she would open her eyes and realized that not everybody coped the same, and that her insistence on having all of her children in the one place was making him feel like a dragon left in a cage for just that little bit too long.

A flicker of white and gold in one of the windows at the top of the large black building brought him back to the present. His heart lifted at the thought that Luna might be waiting for him and caused him to peer closer to see if she was watching him standing there on the hill.

The slight speck of gold to one side told him she was indeed watching him, and with a slight smirk he let the matter of his family slide from his mind, picking up his bag and heading down the hill toward the overgrown garden.

The lower levels of the ramshackle house were empty, but the telltale noises upstairs told him just where Luna was. He hadn't expected her to come down to greet him, but it was a good sign that she hadn't felt the need to flee the premises at the first sign that she was once again going to have company.

The kitchen remained thankfully clean, as did the living room with its now empty fireplace. Charlie knew that if he was going to stay here for any amount of time – whether it be overnight or for several weeks – that he was going to have to tackle the upper levels and deal with the physical manifestations of Luna's traumatic past.

Thinking about the drawings he had found on his first visit to her home, he knew they were the only key to really gaining her trust. As horrific as they were, especially after he had discovered some of what had happened to her, he knew he was going to have to face them in order to deal with her and help her heal. This was a task he knew needed to be done sooner rather than later.

Leaving his bag next to the kitchen door, he cautiously peered up the staircase up into the bright, unprotected upper level. He could hear Luna moving about so he cautiously took the first step.

"Hello? Luna?" He called, pausing when he heard her stop moving, only moving on when she went back to whatever she had been doing.

Using his wand, he levitated a few of the random objects that lined the staircase, making a larger path up. When he reached the top he placed everything in a pile to the side and smiled when he found Luna standing in the middle of the room, staring at him with huge blue eyes.

"Hey," he greeted, braving a small smile at her.

Luna's eyes darted between his wand and the pile of stuff he had just levitated in before she finally settled on his face. He stood still as she stared at him unblinkingly for several long moments, as if she couldn't quiet place his face.

After a while, the set of her shoulders seemed to relax a little, but she didn't stop staring. Licking his lips, Charlie decided to try for conversation – even though so far every interaction between them had been one sided.

"I didn't manage to get any more food, so is stew okay again?" he asked, waiting for any kind of sign she even understood him.

Luna continued to stare, her fingers now worrying the frayed hem of her dress over and over, but she didn't run.

"If it's okay with you, I might need to stay here a while," he continued, observing the way her fingers would pause when he spoke and the eerily way in which she would focus with single-minded intent on his lips.

It occurred to him then what should have been obvious from the beginning. He felt like cursing and jumping for joy at the same time because so much suddenly made sense.

"Luna," he said carefully, making sure he spoke slowly and clearly, "Can you hear me?"

After several agonizing heartbeats she looked up into his eyes and shook her head slowly from side to side.

Swallowing hard, Charlie processed this new information, fitting this latest piece of the puzzle in, but still unable to figure out how to help her. If anything this would make things more difficult, but at least she was acknowledging his presence now and not running away.

The small, impossibly thin woman took a step toward him, her eyes once again focused on his mouth as if waiting for him to say something. He wanted to drag her to St Mungo's, demand she got the proper treatment, but knew this small breakthrough with him would not carry through to an entire building full of strangers carrying wands. In her fragile state of mind he doubted she would cope with it at all.

Luna took another step toward him just as he said, "I'm going to help you."

A stricken look overcame her features as she shrank back. Charlie closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to remain calm as she pulled away again. When he opened his eyes he found her doubled over in the same spot, staring at the floor.

The fresh blood took him off guard, until he realized she had stepped on a large shard of glass. Luna sat down amongst the debris, her hands going to her foot in pain as she wrenched the sharp piece from the sensitive flesh of her heel.

Without thinking, Charlie rushed forward and dropped to his knees in front of her. Making sure she was watching his face again he spoke slowly, "I need you to move your hands, I can help."

Luna shook her head no, pulling her foot closer to her as she shied away from his wand. With an impatient sigh, he resisted the urge to pull them away himself and decided that he could perform the spell without seeing the wound.

"_Episky_," he muttered, pointing his wand at the source of the blood flow, watching her face as the lines of pain eased into relief.

She stared up at him with a look of wonder before slowly moving her hands away to inspect her blood stained, cut-free foot. Her eyes darted briefly to his wand before she stood up in front of him and gently tested it against the floor, finding no pain.

Charlie sat back with a small sense of triumph, knowing that this was just the tip of the iceberg. Today he had made more progress than he had in a week, but it was still going to be baby-steps. At least those steps were now going forward rather than back.

* * *

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	10. Ten

**Ten**

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_Nothing in life is to be feared. It is only to be understood. ~ Marie Curie_

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Charlie moved warily around Luna following the accident, and it wasn't long before she grew tired of watching him from the corner of the room she had retreated to. Her eyes continually darted between his face and his wand as she moved slowly down the stairs backward, the sound of the kitchen door slamming a few minutes later telling him she had left the house.

The first thing Charlie did was point his wand at the ceiling, the shards of glass rising like crystals around him as they slowly reformed. The difference in the room was immediate; the fierce wind that never seemed to end on the grassy hills died down and the constant rustling of papers went silent.

The stillness was disconcerting as he stood in the centre of the room, amidst owl droppings, rat bones, old newspapers and gory drawings. Most everything, it seemed, had been touched by the elements and most of what stood around him was destroyed.

Unlike downstairs he didn't know where to begin - half of it appearing to be junk, but most of that was things he had seen her touch and move and look after. He didn't want to be the one responsible for throwing out something that was valuable to her. The thought of losing what little trust he had gained from being careless was enough to make him go back downstairs and pretend the mess didn't exist.

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, asking himself again if he was doing the right thing.

He dealt with animal problems, not human problems – and Luna was definitely a human problem. If she were a dragon who had been abused he would be able to deal with it easily enough by isolation and the slow introduction of others. Eventually the beast would recognize that not everyone was out to hurt it and it would yield to handlers again.

Not for the first time he wondered if the same approach was what was best for the woman. He contemplated what would happen to her if he just bundled her up after she had fallen asleep & took her to St Mungo's Ward for the Mentally Impaired where those who were capable of dealing with this sort of thing could look after her.

The image of the frail, blonde woman locked up in a padded cell, observed and not nurtured, followed him into the bathroom. The small room was as eclectically decorated as the rest of the house, but at least he had managed to clean it the day before and they were now able to use the facilities.

Stripping off the layers of clothing he had thrown on to combat the cold weather, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The first thing that struck him was just how very tired he looked, the dark circles under his eyes pronounced and his skin was looking pastier than usual under all the freckles. Coming back to England felt like it had added another ten years onto his life in a very short amount of time.

With a shake of his head, he attempted to clear his melancholy with happier thoughts – like how good it would feel to finally be clean again.

He wrestled with the ancient plumbing system, the pipes groaning in protest until they settled on a steady stream of hot water before stepping underneath and giving his own vocal approval.

The knowledge that he wasn't going to be hurried out of the bathroom by a sibling, or would run out of water like on the reserve, was a heady thing. He luxuriated in the constant flow of bone melting warmth that seemed to ease the tension he had been carrying for days.

Charlie was in the process of rubbing a bar of soap between his palms when a load crash from the outer room stopped him in his tracks. He was given no time to rid himself of the slippery substance to see what it was when a blur of dirty clothes and equally filthy blonde hair came flying into the bathroom.

He stood rooted to the spot when the witch didn't hesitate to fling open the glass partition door, uncaring and unnoticing of his nudity, and squeezed herself in beside him. Her nimble hands rushed to shut off the water, her desperation making her fumble until Charlie took pity and did it for her.

He pushed her behind him, wedging her against the stone wall and his back as he waited for the impending threat. His eyes darted toward his wand, where it lay on top of the pile of discarded clothes but something prevented him from going for it.

Something had spooked her, far worse than he had seen her since the first day he had wandered near this house. He could hear her harsh breathing, feel her chest rising and falling so rapidly he feared she would pass out. Her nails, sharp and broken, dug into his already scarred back but it was a pain he barely noticed as he watched the bathroom door with trepidation.

"It's alright Luna," he said, knowing she couldn't hear him, or see his lips moving. Maybe he just said it to reassure himself, he acknowledged.

She must have felt him tense beneath her palms when he heard what she had seen. Someone was definitely downstairs, making no secret of his or her entrance as the front door flapped open and closed in the wind.

"Hello?" a voice called, "Anyone here?"

Charlie wanted to call out, wanted to tell his older brother he was here. Bill would understand - Bill might even be able to help. The tiny woman behind him gave a low whimper, the sound akin to that of a wounded creature, and he knew then – if he pushed her to go downstairs they would never see her again. She would run.

"Charlie, are you here?" Bill called again, his voice growing closer as he mounted the stairs.

Charlie took a deep breath, closing his eyes and fighting off the cold as the adrenaline wore off and his body registered that he was soaking wet and in a house with more draughts than perhaps even Hogwarts.

He reached behind him and gripped Luna's hand. _No, he wouldn't give her up just yet_, he thought, _he wouldn't let her_ _go, not when he was so close to having her trust him._

Luna's fingers entwined with his after a long pause, her body fitting against him as she gave him that trust. He felt a sharp tug at his chest, knowing that this small gesture told him that something he had done over the last few weeks had finally proven to her that, at least for now, he wasn't going to hurt her.

He could hear Bill moving around the second floor, he'd stopped calling out now and seemed to be searching in the rooms. Charlie began to wonder if he could get away with leaving Luna in the bathroom – perhaps he could fool his brother if he just dried off, got dressed and stepped out casually, closing the door behind him and coming back for her later.

Luna's nails dug into his palm as Bill's footsteps drew closer, her harsh breathing becoming short gasps as she fought her panic. His decision was made then - while listening to her sheer terror - that she would never understand if he left.

"Bill?" a second voice called from downstairs.

Ginny called again when their brother didn't answer, "Bill? Did you find him?"

Bill footsteps moved away from the bathroom door, back toward the spiraling staircase. "He's not here!" he called back.

Charlie had to strain to hear her response, "Then lets go. This place gives me the creeps."

His older brother thumped back down the stairs, the heavy wooden door slamming shut behind him. The silence that followed was only interrupted by the howling of the wind outside and the faint, but persistent whimpers of the woman behind him.

* * *

_Thanks for Reading!_


	11. Eleven

**Eleven**

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_God defend me from my friends; from my enemies I can defend myself. ~ Proverb_

* * *

The silence in the house was deafening in the wake of his brother and sisters' sudden, yet not entirely unexpected appearance.

Charlie willed himself to calm down, to think of the near naked witch in his arms that probably wouldn't know how to calm down. She was shaking and clinging to him so tightly he was beginning to loose circulation to his fingers and he worried that this may compromise what trust she had in him when she realized she was standing with a naked man.

"Luna," he said softly, trying to move away from her so he could capture he gaze. Luna shook her head against his back vehemently, her hands gripping him tighter against the now long gone danger.

"Luna, please. They're gone," he tried to reassure her. She clung tighter, her arms moving to wrap around his torso with a strength he was surprised she still had.

This left his hands free, and after a few moments of struggling he managed to turn around in her arms so he could see her, his abused fingers reached over to turn the water back on. Instantly the goose flesh that had sprung up all over his body in the last few tense minutes melted away and with it some of the tension in Luna's body.

It was a case of actions speaking louder than words. The water coming back on seemed to reassure her that the danger was gone, but she still would not let go of his body. With cautious fingers, he slowly raised his hand to the back of her head, hugging back with a sigh of relief that they weren't discovered. Luna was far from ready to face the world; he just needed a few more weeks to work out what to do once that had to happen.

They mindlessly stood under the water for long minutes; Charlie's fingers began sifting through her matted hair slowly, gently working out the worst of the tangles. After a while he reached out for the shampoo, showing her the bottle before tipping some of it into his palm. She didn't protest or try to run, so he took this rare moment of closeness to run his fingers along her scalp, forming a rich lather to rinse away months of neglect.

Her deep sigh was like music to his ears when he urged her to tip her head back into the steady stream of hot water. When she stood up straight it was her hand that reached for the bottle again, handing it to him with an expectant look.

Charlie grinned, gripping her shoulders and turning her so her back was to him, applying the sweet smelling gel to her head for the second time. She let him scrub her hair clean like he'd wanted to do since he'd come across in the meadow.

When it came to conditioning her hair, he massaged her scalp and neck, feeling the last of the horrendous tangles slip apart under his fingers. The once matted mousy blonde hair was once again it's true white blonde mane.

He was almost certain Luna would have spent the rest of the day in the shower with him if he hadn't reached over to turn the tap off after an hour. He led her by the hand onto the cold tiles of the bathroom floor and wrapped her in the fluffy towel he had conjured earlier from a pair of socks.

He noticed the way her eyes still followed all of his movements, and warily plotted his next move with her. He wanted her out of the ratty dress she'd been wearing since her terrible ordeal, but he knew it was going to be a battle that would most likely end badly. He'd seen the wardrobe full of clothes on his wanderings around the house and knew they could have only ever belonged to her. It would be tragic for her to have survived so much during the war only to die from something as human as frostbite or pneumonia.

Leaving the bathroom, he casually walked toward her room while wrapping the towel around his hips, tucking the wand he had picked on the sly into the front of the knot where she would see it until it was too late. He resisted the urge to look back when he heard her small, hesitant footsteps behind him, instead making his way directly to the wardrobe as if it were his house and not hers.

He opened the wardrobe and assessed the array of Muggle and Wizard clothing that hung neatly on wire hangers, untouched for who knew how long. He sifted through the jewel toned robes, took note of strangely embroidered jackets and finally settled on a pair of jeans, an almost threadbare white shirt and a jumper that looked like one of his mothers rare failed knitting attempts but would be warm nonetheless. He wondered if he could manage to get a robe on her too before she decided it would be too much.

Glancing over his shoulder, he caught her eye briefly before turning back to the clothes, stealing himself for what was to come. She watched him with curiosity from the doorway, but wouldn't come any closer. He picked up the clothes he'd chosen, thought about wrestling her into them, but decided that would probably end off worse than what he knew he had to do.

"You're going to hate me for this," he sighed, pulling his wand from the front of his towel, closing his eyes before saying the spell.

The clothes vanished from his hands and the soggy, shredded slip she had been wearing for weeks appeared in their place. She didn't make a sound behind him, so he turned to see her standing there; looking down at her fully clothed self in horror. Her giant blue eyes looked up at him with such terror that he wished for an instant he could take back what he had just done.

"I'm sorry," he said sadly, watching as she turned and fled from the house once again.

But the damage was done; now all he could do was wait. He knew this time she would come back, that they had had a breakthrough that afternoon and she now trusted him, even just a little. That was all Charlie needed to help her, just a little trust – from there they could work the rest out.

* * *

_Thanks for reading!_

* * *

**A note to my readers:** I am not a quick updater, as you may well have noticed. When my work/life balance is back under control, things will be complete.

If I ever do decide to 'abandon' a fic - as some have come to recently accuse me - I will not be leaving it up on this site because I don't think that would be fair. At present time I am slowly working toward completing the fics I sill have posted here &I am sorry if I have upset anyone with my recent lack of progress. A full time job & a household that doesn't run itself mean I am constantly surrounded by distractions & writing comes out of what little spare time I have.

Your reviews, private messages and the fact that you still come back when I do have time to update are incredibly encouraging.

The minority who seem to take it personally when a fic has not been updated for a while however, are not. I am not a high school student, a stay-at-home mum or a millionaire who has people do things for them. So the next time you feel the urge to reprimand a FF writer anonymously, ask yourself if that is going to get a chapter posted anytime soon - because it certainly doesn't motivate me.

~Amy


	12. Twelve

**Twelve**

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_Worry is a thin stream of fear trickling through the mind. If encouraged, it cuts a channel into which all other thoughts are drained. ~ Arthur Somers Rache_

* * *

In the next several weeks Charlie witnessed Luna's slow improvement.

Using magic on her had been like slapping a hysterical woman in the face. At first she had been stunned, she had run and avoided him like the plague; then she had been angry, refusing to accept anything of his and destroying any handy work he did around the house; then she had quietly come to accept that he was living in her home and had proceeded to ignore him for almost three weeks.

He watched her now across the garden, where she sat in the middle of the unkempt greenery, sifting her fingers through the long grass that would soon be buried under snow. Her white blonde hair shone brilliantly in the feeble sun, freshly washed and in far better condition than when he had first come across her. She looked so peaceful and if he were being honest with himself, quite beautiful.

Charlie grit his teeth as he pulled the last of the carrots from the ground, trying hard not to think about her hair, and just why it was looking so healthy, because it involved her latest habit of joining him in the shower.

It turned out Luna loved water, and seemed to have no boundaries now she had rediscovered it. Ever since that morning his siblings had come to the house looking for him, she had been slipping into the bathroom and insistently placing the bottle of shampoo in his hand – he didn't have to be a member of the Wizengamot to realize she enjoyed feeling clean.

The first few times he had tried to cover his nudity, terrified that she would suddenly realize that he was a full-grown man and remember her attackers. He didn't think he could handle seeing the fear in her eyes again, not after all the effort he had put in to gaining her trust. Luna, however, didn't seem to care about being naked in the shower with him, and would pull him back under the water if he tried to cut the activity short.

It was inevitable, he supposed, that he would stop seeing her as such a victim and begin seeing her as the young, attractive woman she was. When he looked beyond the fragile creature she had become he saw her as the almost ethereal, petite, willowy blonde with huge blue eyes she had been before the war had robbed her of almost everything. It didn't lessen his protective instincts in the least; in fact it made the urge to watch over her even stronger.

The switch from broken creature to healing woman in his mind was making the whole situation complicated. It was wrong, he told himself, to look forward to washing the grime of the house off his skin each time just so he could feel her against his naked skin. It was wrong to let her fold her body into his in the evening as they watched the flames of a dying fire, sharing warmth, as the days grew shorter and colder. It was wrong to feel his heart pound when she eagerly came running in from outside, eagerly pressing herself to his side to see what concoction he was brewing for their dinner. Every innocent touch, every rare smile, every tiny gesture, had him riddled with guilt.

Charlie tried to deny it, but he only had himself to fool. He was falling in love with Luna Lovegood.

Picking up the basket full of vegetables, he stood and dusted the dirt from the front of his robes, turning his find from his forbidden feelings and thinking up a new variation of soup he had yet to try out. A frigid autumn breeze swept around him as he looked in the direction of the Burrow before he turned back to the house.

He was so lost in thought that he physically jumped when her small hand slipped into his. She smiled up at him before trying to peer across his body to look eagerly into the basket, hoping for a sneak peek of tonight's meal. Laughing playfully, he held the wicker carrier above his head and tugged her toward the warmth of the tall black building, even as she bounced against his side, unwilling to let go of his hand, even if it meant she could jump higher.

Charlie stopped trying to deny it; he _was_ in love with Luna Lovegood.

* * *

_**Authors Note:** Hello all! Yes, I am back and I come with my own little basket of goodies. As promised, I have taken my time on hiatus to work on completing my WIPs before publishing. I have discovered that by publishing a single chapter before I have completed the entire story I am only fueling my habit of procrastination, and am therefore cheating you of regular updates. _

_I decided to start working on this particular fic first because it was the closest to completion of all my works, and the chapters are (noticeably) shorter. I'm so happy to be submitting again and I can't wait to hear what you think so far – is Charlie heading into things too soon? Is he misunderstanding his feelings? Should he listen to his guilt & return home to work on the unresolved family issues? Or should he just stay in his little cocoon with Luna for a while longer? Let me know!_


	13. Thirteen

**Thirteen**

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_Visit her, gentle Sleep! With wings of healing, And may this storm be but a mountain-birth, May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling, Silent as though they watched the sleeping Earth! ~ Samuel Taylor Coleridge_

* * *

In the following weeks, the howling wind and constant rain finally gave way to snow. The winter that had been so long in its approach settled around them late one night and Charlie was suddenly grateful for all the afternoons he had spent chopping firewood. Even Luna, who had been so reluctant to wear clothing in the beginning, had begun rugging up against the bone-deep chill that seeped through every crack of her home.

It was during one of the coldest nights of the year that he woke to find Luna standing timidly beside his bed. Before then, she had spent her nights sleeping by the fireplace, avoiding him upstairs. He immediately let go of his wand, which he had taken to keeping under his pillow during the war, and blinked up at her.

"What's wrong?" he asked, knowing she could see his lips moving, despite the darkness that filled the cold room.

She stood chewing her bottom lip, her fingers clenching and unclenching by her sides before she responded with a shake of her head.

"Did something happen? Do you want me to come downstairs?" he prompted, wondering if there was somebody on the property.

Again, she shook her head, but continued to stand there shivering in the flannel nightdress he had wrestled her into after their shower, mere hours ago.

It occurred to him then, as he watched her rub the goose flesh on her arms what might have caused her to seek him out, "Are you cold?"

Finally, she nodded affirmative.

He pulled back the covers, feeling the loss of warmth almost immediately. "Come on," he said, gripping her hand, prepared to spend another night with her curled up on the old threadbare armchair by the fire. He met with resistance though when they reach the doorway.

Glancing back at his blonde companion, he saw her shaking her head again, her eyes darting to the bed and back to him. His sleep-addled brain took several more moments to catch up with her meaning.

"You want to stay here? With me?" he asked slowly, his heart picking up a few beats as he tried to comprehend just what this might mean. He took a deep breath and waited for her to lose her nerve, to run scared again, unable to give her trust to anyone.

An apprehensive look crossed her features before the light of resolve filled her eyes. A small, shy smile moved her lips before she tugged him back toward the bed, her gentle touch pushing him down onto the still warm sheets first. Scooting over, he gave her room to follow, and after a brief hesitation she slid in beside him.

Charlie willed his breathing under control, and fought not to fold her into his arms like he'd wanted to do for weeks. He remained stiff beside her as she wriggled around, trying to find the warmest patch. He blinked up at the ceiling, focusing on the sweet smell of her hair and not the fact that this was the biggest step she had taken on her own since he had moved in.

His muscles gave an involuntary twitch of surprise when her hand slipped across his chest, causing her to hesitate in her struggles for comfort. After several heartbeats she continued to move her hand up until she could curl her fingers over his shoulder. Her whole body slowly deflated into his after that, her thighs pressing into one of his as she curled around him, her nose pressing against his throat so that her breath fanned against him.

Luna fell asleep quickly, her breaths becoming deep and even within a space of a few minutes and the shivers that her wracked her tiny frame ceased instantly. Charlie took a lot longer to fall asleep, however, his brain going into overdrive as he fought to keep his hands by his sides and wondered just how this changed things between them.

He focused on her rhythmic breathing against his neck, closing his eyes against the sensation and finally gave in. His arms circled around her and pulled her more snuggly against his much larger frame, sharing his warmth and indulging in the physical contact his body seemed to be craving as the days in this house wore on.

That night did change things between them, and Charlie marveled at just how open Luna became, as they remained cooped up in her home together. Her touches became more casual, her smile much more frequent and once, late one evening when he had just finished combing her hair and had taken her hand to guide her up to bed, she had surprised him with a kiss on the cheek.

It was the most honest, innocent gesture he had ever received.

His thoughts remained on her all the time, especially when they weren't together. He worried when she left for hours, only to come back home covered in a layer of snow and frozen to the bone. He worried when he had to leave the house to go and buy food from the nearby village of Ottery St Catchpole – never staying long regardless, in case he ran into a family member. He enjoyed her company, more than he liked to admit at times.

Most of all, he worried about what was going to happen when she was well enough to live alone. He knew he would have to go back to the real world one day, just as he knew that she would start to become more confident away from her family home. He was realistic enough to recognize that winter was coming to an end, and he couldn't hide out with her forever.

At least she had continued to come to him at night, and hadn't run after that first morning, where he had woken to find himself wrapped around the witch. Much like the shower situation, she seemed to appreciate sharing his warmth and being with him, and her nightmares became far less frequent.

It was some weeks later; around the time the snow was beginning to melt in the yard that Charlie was woken up rather abruptly. At first, he thought Luna was having a nightmare, and turned to the witch at his side to wake her up. But she remained under the blankets, her blonde hair just peeking over the top, and blissfully unaware of anything unusual.

The feeble sun was just starting to peek through the crack in the thin curtains, so he knew it was morning. It was early enough that he lay back down, about to pull the younger witch's body against his own when he heard what must have woken him up.

"They must be upstairs," the female voice said, softly enough that he didn't recognize it.

The footsteps that followed told him that there were two people in the house. His hand reached beneath his pillow for his wand automatically.

Doors opened on either side of the bedroom, papers shuffled as Luna's drawings were touched and something clattered to the floor as one of his precariously placed piles of her trinkets was disturbed. Finally the door swung open.

"Charlie?

"Mum."

* * *

_Thanks for reading!_


	14. Fourteen

**Fourteen**

* * *

_Know then, whatever cheerful and serene. Supports the mind, supports the body too: Hence, the most vital movement mortals feel is hope, the balm and lifeblood of the soul. ~ John Armstrong_

* * *

Charlie hated hospitals. The constant ebb and flow of people, the sickly smell of patients and potions and the horrible sense of hopelessness that seemed to have seeped into the walls and managed to infect everyone who stepped through the doors.

He didn't know how long he had been sitting in the waiting room of St Mungo's, slowly turning Luna's wand between his fingers as he waiting to see her. He hadn't spoken a word in hours as the images of this morning's events played over and over in his head.

When his mother had stepped into the room, followed by a very guilty looking Hermione, he hadn't had enough time to comprehend that the blissful isolation he had been enjoying had finally come to an end. In his surprise, he'd jumped out of bed, disturbing Luna.

He hoped to never see the kind of terror in her eyes as he had that morning. She'd been like a trapped rabbit, as his mother, not understanding just how fragile the witch's mind was, had backed her into a corner in an attempt to hug her – the relief at seeing her alive overwhelming her common sense.

Luna had lashed out. Molly had fallen to the floor and Hermione had stunned her blonde classmate, casting a full body bind on her as she scrambled for the door. Charlie had watched the whole thing from the foot of the bed, frozen, as if the spell had been directed at him.

"I'm sorry," Hermione had whispered, gnawing her bottom lip, "I had to tell her the truth. She was so worried about you, Charlie."

He'd watched as the war heroin had then turn to Luna, her eyes sweeping over her stunned form, a frown marring her forehead. "Please Luna, it's me, stop fighting it. We're not going to hurt you," she'd all but breathed, tears choking her voice.

"She won't respond," Charlie had finally rasped, breaking his stunned silence and reaching to help his mother off the floor, the older woman looking like she'd taken a bludger to the head, her blue eyes blinking rapidly up at him, "She can't hear, she can't speak."

"Have you taken her to see a healer?" his mother had asked, her grip on his forearms had him questioning just how hard she had fallen.

"No, besides me, you're the closest anybody has gotten to her since I found her. I don't… I don't know how she'd react to a public place. I can't do that to her," he said, voicing the concerns he'd had from the beginning.

"What had you planned on doing Charlie? You can't stay here looking after her forever, she needs help, healers, people who'll look after her," his Mum had said, her tone implying that he'd been stupid in his handling of his witch.

Before he could respond, Hermione had pulled a cloak down from the peg behind the door, wrapping it around Luna's prone frame, before levitating her before the fireplace.

"I'm taking her to St Mungo's, you can meet me there," she said, squaring her shoulders with resolve. And just like that, she'd taken Luna away from him.

He'd rushed to the fireplace in his panic, forgetting he had nothing but a pair of pyjama bottoms on, and had thrown a handful of floo powder in before a hand on his arm had stopped him.

"Charlie, we need to talk."

"No, we don't. I have nothing to say to you."

She'd shrugged, her colourful shawl slipping off one shoulder before she adjusted it, worrying the frayed edging as she chose her words, "But I have something to say to you."

Closing his eyes against the sting of tears, he'd moved past her to pick up the clothes he had discarded the night before, pulling the shirt over his head as he waiting for her to make excuses.

"You're my son, you'll always be my son. I've already lost one child. The thought of losing another… well, it made me panic. I lashed out. Sometimes, when it comes to the people you love most in this world…"

"Mum," he interrupted her, turning back from pulling a jumper out of the wardrobe to look her in the eye, "I love her."

"I know," she replied without pause.

This made Charlie stop for a moment, wondering if Luna was so in tune with his feelings for her, "Please don't cause me to do anything irrational. Right now she's terrified, and sick and more than anything she's alone. She won't remember Hermione, or that Healers are there to help her. All she knows right now is that she's been taken away from the one person she trusted to protect her, and that person did nothing to stop it."

"Oh, Charlie," she'd cried, hugging her to her much smaller body as he'd cried too.

But there weren't any tears now, as more and more of his family filtered into the waiting room, greeting him quietly as they waited to hear news of Luna's condition. From beneath his fringe he watched Harry and his youngest brother come in, the latter hugging Hermione to him. He reminded himself that these were Luna's friends, or had been, and they were worried too. He hadn't known Luna well before the war, and realized how much more horrific it must be for those who had grown up with his blonde witch, as they came to realize just how broken she was.

Hermione detached herself from Ron and came over to him, sitting with her back against the wall as she watched the constant movement of his fingers.

"Charlie, I'm so sorry," she said, her voice cracking with the tears she had cried over the last few hours, "when Ron and I got home last night and we're told you were gone I knew, I knew exactly where you were. But you have to believe me, I never had any intention of telling Molly."

"Then why did you?" he asked quietly, keeping his head down, unable to keep the bitterness from creeping into his tone.

Hermione took a shaky breath, "I had every intention of coming to find you alone, but she figured me out. She's a clever woman, your mother. She was dressed and waiting in the kitchen when I snuck down this morning, demanded I take her to you. You have to believe me when I say how sorry I am that things happened the way they did," she paused, her hand going to his, stopping the constant twirling of Luna's wand, "but I'm not sorry I bought her to you."

"What?" he asked, looking up at her.

"When I was in Australia, I had to restore my parents memories. We had a huge fight, they kicked Ron and I out of their house and everything. It took me days to get my Mum to talk to me, I had to follow her down the street, and confront her in a Muggle café just to get her to speak to me without making a scene. When she finally calmed down enough to explain their reactions I realized they weren't angry with me, they were angry at my decisions. I had robbed them of the right to worry about their only child, robbed them of having any say in the matter. They were angry that I had chosen to deal with things on my own, and not trusted them enough to share what was happening in my life, memory charm or not. I realized then, that they were angry because I had made the decision for them, and if I had asked, they probably would have agreed."

"So they were angry because you didn't ask them?" he surmised.

"Yes, and no. They were also angry that I had kept the war and my involvement in it a secret. That sort of thing you're suppose to share with your parents, but while I was at Hogwarts it was like I was living in another universe, and when I went home for the holidays I just became normal, Muggle Hermione Granger. Not a war hero, or Harry Potter's clever friend, or the girl who dated Quidditch superstar Viktor Krum. I was just a witch who went to boarding school. Why worry them with the truth?" she explained with a sad smile.

"So they're back in England now?" he asked, processing her story, looking around at his family as he realized how his own selfish decision had impacted them all.

"No," she said, her smile widening, "turns out Dad is quite the avid surfer, and Mum is enjoying the laid back lifestyle. They're living in a seaside community, started up their own dental surgery and have been enjoying long drives along the coast on the weekends. I don't remember ever seeing them so happy."

"You must be relieved," he muttered, going back to twirling Luna's wand, Hermione's temporary distraction wearing off.

"I am. I'm also sorry I interfered with you and Luna. But can you understand now, why I had to tell Molly?" she asked.

Charlie kept watching the wand in his fingers, "I understand, I'm sorry I made things difficult by asking you to keep it a secret."

"You had reason to, but Charlie, she's going to be okay." And with that last reassurance, the brilliant witch stood up and went back to her brother and their best friend, her casual touch offering the comfort he hadn't been able to accept.

_She's going to be okay._

The words echoed in his head, and deep down he began praying they were true. They had to be true.

* * *

_Thanks for reading!_


	15. Fifteen

**Fifteen**

* * *

_Silence is exhilarating at first - as noise is - but there is a sweetness to silence outlasting exhilaration, akin to the sweetness of listening and the velvet of sleep. ~ Edward Hoagland_

* * *

The next time anybody approached Charlie it was dark outside. He'd stopped paying attention to the comings and goings of his family and the staggering amount of friends Luna seemed to have who had all come rushing to the hospital, dropping everything just to prove to themselves that she was in fact alive.

George had entered the crowded waiting room and was greeted by a shocked hush. His younger brother hadn't been seen in public since the very public funeral for his twin. Charlie looked up at the sudden lull in conversation and watched as George had weaved his way through the sea of concerned faces to take the seat beside him.

"Hey," he said by way of greeting, pulling his jacket closer to his body as he avoided all eye contact.

Charlie watched George fidget for a few moments before voicing his surprise; "I didn't expect to see you here."

The earless twin shrugged, "I wasn't going to come, but when nobody came home I got worried. I couldn't stand the waiting. What's taking them so long?"

"I don't know. Did you know Luna well?" Charlie asked, curious at just how much of a connection his witch had with his family. He knew she had been in Ginny's year, and had been apart of Harry's defence group, but he'd never heard of her interacting with Fred and George.

"I don't think anybody really _knew_ Luna. She was – _is_ – something else. She was our first test subject, used to volunteer to try out new products at school, never complained, even came up with a few _Wheeze's_ herself. I guess none of us realized how lucky we were to know her when we did. Is it true what they did to her?" George finally looked at him; searching for the answers he must have compelled him to come out in public after so much time.

Charlie thought back to the story Hermione had told him when he had first come across Luna, of her capture and public torture – shuddering at the mental image of her being paraded down Diagon Alley by the evil men who had no doubt raped and violated her repeatedly. He'd seen the evidence for himself and knew that any account of those weeks she had been amongst the Death Eaters could never compare to the true horror Luna had gone through.

"She was so sick when I found her," Charlie said quietly, noting the amount of eyes and ears turned in their direction. He could see his father speaking urgently to their mother, both of them gesturing in his direction.

"Do you think they'll keep her here?" George asked, noticing their parents too.

Charlie shook his head, letting out a sigh, "I don't think so. She can't communicate, but I really thought I was getting somewhere with her. It would kill me to see her locked up in the Janice Thickey Ward. Merlin, she must be so scared," he groaned, voicing his concerns for the first time since they had arrived at St Mungo's.

George didn't offer any sentiments or false hope, he just patted Charlie's knee and turned to watch their parents, who had obviously decided to join their sons.

"George," Molly greeted, worrying her hands at the sight of her reclusive son, "is everything okay?"

George gave her a weak smile, the gesture only a little bit strained, "Sure. I heard there was a party going on down here and thought I might be missing out. As far as parties go, I've been to better."

Arthur looked around the room and returned to look at his sons, "Sorry looking lot, aren't we?" he sat down beside Charlie, patting the hard plastic seat beside him for his wife to join, "Shouldn't be too long now, I expect," he said.

All four of them took to looking at the swinging double doors, waiting for the news that never seemed to come.

* * *

Charlie looked around him at the sleeping witches and wizards in the waiting room. It was well past midnight and a Mediwitch had come along several hours before to transifigure the chairs and couches into beds.

Refreshments had been provided and an assurance that it wouldn't be too much longer had been given. That had been some five hours ago.

Charlie had remained in his seat, not even focussing on the doors anymore, his mind blank as he started to believe George's fears. He wasn't getting her back. Maybe the Mediwitch who had insisted he eat and drink earlier would just come in and kick them all out in a few hours, never letting anyone see Luna again.

His morose thoughts were interrupted by the double doors swinging open. At first he didn't register that someone new had entered the room, it had been so long since anything had happened, but then he laid eyes on a tall, very serious looking Healer who was striding purposefully toward him.

"Mr Weasley?" she whispered, barely waiting for him to confirm, "I'm Healer Hawthorn, you're fine to see Miss Lovegood now, if you'll come with me, please." And with that she spun on her heel and strode back the way she had come.

Charlie was on his feet before and running after her, giving no thought or consideration to the sleeping people around him. Following the healer through the doors, he caught up with her half way down the hallway.

"How is she?" he asked, his heart pounding in his chest from adrenalin.

The Healer continued to walk, her strides long and filled with purpose, "As far as we can determine, she's still severely underweight and probably in a bit of pain at the moment because we had to reset several bones that had healed incorrectly. She is also under the effects of a dreamless sleeping draught to counteract the headache she know doubt has after the memory modification."

"Memory modification?" Charlie asked.

The Healer came to an abrupt stop in front of an unmarked doorway and gave him a very piercing look, "Miss Lovegood has been the victim of not only physical rape, but they breached her mental shields as well. We've had our best Legilimen's working on her for the better part of the last twelve hours, no easy feat, mind you. Her attackers we're very nearly successful at destroying her mind. They taught her to fear everybody, to fear magic and men, they erased her mind of any happy thought she had ever had. It is no small miracle you found her, Mr Weasley."

"And now?" Charlie choked out.

"We have restored many of her earlier memories that were locked away, it was decided that the worst of her memories during the time she was held captive would be eradicated, as drastic as that sounds, it is for the best. Unfortunately, we were unable to restore her hearing or her voice, not even magic could heal what they did to her," Healer Hawthorn told him gently before pushing past him to enter the room.

Charlie paused at the door, his eyes falling on Luna's prone form. Seeing her there, breathing so deeply, looking so peacefully, eased the ache that had settled around his heart hours ago.

Before he knew it he was at her side, his hand coming to rest on her smooth cheek, as if to feel that she was truly there in the flesh.

"It will be morning by the time she wakes. We'd like to keep here hear for a few more days for observation, but after that, she's all yours," the Healer interrupted, making a note on the chart at the end of the bed.

All Charlie could do was nod, his eyes fixated on the fanning of her eyelashes and the small pout of her mouth.

He'd never felt so happy over two simple words.

All his.

* * *

_One Year Later – Christmas_

* * *

Charlie eased down on one of the very worn couches at the Burrow, pinching a shortbread cookie from the plate balanced on Hermione's very large baby belly.

"Hey!" she cried indignantly, "Bruce was really looking forward to that one."

"Bruce?" Charlie snorted, "Is that what you're calling him this week?"

Hermione gave her bump a pat before popping half a cookie in her mouth, "It was that, or Nigel."

He grinned, "Ron still only looking at girls names?"

His sister in law gave her own grin, "Of course, stubborn man. Nothing I say will convince him it could be a boy. Although, he's got it in his head that Arabella is a good…" she was cut of abruptly by a loud explosion in the corner of the room, behind the Christmas tree.

Smoke began to rise from the base of the heavily decorated pine, followed by a deep chuckle and enthusiastic clapping. A moment later, George and Luna spilled from behind the towering pile of presents into the living room.

"Honestly!" Molly Weasley cried, "George Weasley, how many times have I told you?"

George, not looking very contrite at all, helped Luna to her feet before facing his mother, "We were just trying to see if we could get fireworks to shoot from the star," he defended.

"I'll make fireworks shoot out of you! Come on, you can keep yourself out of trouble and help me with sweets," she scolded her adult son, dragging him by his one remaining ear into the kitchen, ranting about pasts Christmas's and maturity along the way.

Grinning, Luna crossed the room to sit in Charlie's lap, her arms wrapping around his neck as she eyed off the last cookie on Hermione's plate. With an exaggerated roll of her eyes, the older witch pushed the plate toward her friend. The whole room fell silent, freezing at the sudden gasp and the sound of the plate smashing a moment later.

Harry and Ron came running into the room from the kitchen, the red heads face stricken, "Is it the baby?" he asked frantically, pushing his way through his family to reach his wife.

Mrs Weasley and George had joined the fray, every person home for the holidays converging on the tiny living room.

Hermione ignored her fretting husband, pushing his hands away as he reached for her belly, "No, look," she finally gasped, grabbing Luna's hand in both of hers. The large engagement ring sparkled in the festive lights.

Charlie sat back with a grin, Luna blushed lightly and everyone in the house exploded with surprised elation.

His witch had given him the best Christmas present ever. She'd said yes.

* * *

_The End_

* * *

_Thanks for reading. Please review!_


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